The sea remembers everything.In its unfathomable depths, even the brightest days of mankind remain engraved like scars of light, never to be forgotten.
Atlantis.A city brighter than the sun itself, the pinnacle of human civilization.
The streets gleamed with polished white marble that never dulled, even after centuries. Wide avenues stretched endlessly, lined with statues of heroes carved from crystal and jade. Towers plated in gold rose so high they seemed to pierce the clouds, casting their glittering reflections across the sea.
Silver canals flowed through the city like veins of light, carrying water so pure it was said to heal sickness. Their mirrored surfaces reflected not only the heavens above but also the ambitions of those who gazed into them. Gardens bloomed with flowers from every corner of the known world, each blossom carefully cultivated by gardeners who were as revered as scholars.
Markets pulsed with life. Merchants shouted the value of their goods—exotic spices that burned the tongue, silks dyed in colors no other civilization could produce, gems that glimmered as if they contained fragments of the stars themselves. Scholars debated in marble halls, their voices rising like song, charting constellations and devising machines that harnessed the breath of the wind and the fire of the earth.
Children laughed as they splashed in fountains shaped like dolphins, their laughter ringing like bells beneath crystal bridges. At night, lamps of ever-burning flame illuminated every street, so that even the darkness bowed to Atlantis's brilliance.
And at the very heart of this grandeur stood a temple beyond compare—the Temple of Poseidon, lord of the seas.
The temple was more than stone and gold. It was the living pulse of Atlantis.
Bronze pillars rose higher than any palace tower, each etched with patterns of waves and sea creatures that seemed to writhe and swim under the caress of light. Golden domes crowned the sanctuary, gleaming like miniature suns by day and reflecting the moon like silver shields by night.
Inside, the ceilings were adorned with shells as white as clouds and as smooth as glass, glowing faintly in the torchlight. Mosaics of turquoise and emerald stretched across the floors, forming endless patterns of waves, tridents, and stars. The air smelled of salt and incense, a mingling of sea and sanctity.
Here, mortals entered with trembling steps, their prayers rising like mist toward the heavens. And here, gods and mortals breathed as one.
For Poseidon himself walked among them.
He was not a distant deity. He was a ruler who loved, who grieved, who stood beside mortals and shared their world. He had fallen in love with a woman named Cleito, whose beauty and strength rivaled even that of the sea. To protect her, he raised walls of bronze and silver around her dwelling, sealing it from harm. And in the center of that sacred hill, he built his eternal temple.
With Cleito, Poseidon fathered ten sons.
The eldest, Atlas, was crowned ruler of the central land. He was strong, wise, and beloved, and his name became the very title of the empire—Atlantis, the land of Atlas. His nine brothers ruled the surrounding regions, each with their own palaces, courts, and armies. Together they were known as the Ten Kings, guardians of the greatest civilization the world had ever seen.
People worshiped them as the blood of the divine. They offered prayers and sacrifices, not only to Poseidon but also to his sons, believing their rule would never falter. Under their reign, Atlantis reached the very height of prosperity.
It seemed to be an eternal golden age.
But prosperity breeds greed.
As centuries passed, the kings hungered for more than what was given. Their thirst for power grew insatiable.
Atlas, once noble, grew proud, his wisdom clouded by the weight of his crown. His brothers, envious of his central power, plotted and schemed. They demanded tribute from distant lands, demanding not only gold and silver but also slaves and warriors. Those who resisted were crushed beneath the might of Atlantis's armies, their lands flooded with steel and fire.
The great markets overflowed with wealth, yet the poor starved in the shadows of the golden towers. Nobles bathed in pools of wine while peasants begged for crumbs. The canals, once flowing with water so pure it healed, now carried whispers of corruption, their mirrored surfaces no longer reflecting hope but fear.
And the temples…
The temples that once overflowed with offerings began to empty.Prayers dwindled.The incense smoke thinned, rising less often toward the heavens.
Laughter filled the halls of kings—not the laughter of joy, but the mocking tones of men drunk on power. Feasts grew longer, while rituals shortened. The golden domes no longer echoed with devotion, but with quarrels, betrayals, and the clashing of ambition.
Poseidon watched it all.
The mortals he once cherished… and even his own sons… were consumed by arrogance.
His heart, once full of love for this land, grew heavy with sorrow. From his throne in the abyss, he saw the canals overflow not with water, but with blood. He heard the cries of the oppressed echo louder than the hymns once sung in his name. The very air of Atlantis grew foul with pride and betrayal.
The sea god clenched his trident. His voice rolled like thunder through the abyss.
"Humans have lost the balance of the sea."
The ocean trembled. Dark waves rose from the depths, as if the sea itself shared its master's grief. Storm clouds gathered over Atlantis, splitting the sky with bolts of lightning.
Cracks spread across the golden walls. Statues toppled. The laughter of kings turned to silence as the heavens darkened.
The eternal paradise was no longer eternal.
And the sea…The sea was preparing to swallow everything whole.